


Hello, or is This Goodbye?

by fallfromgraceonmyface92



Category: Green Day, Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Punk, Break Up, Emotional, Feelings, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Gilfoyle is Richard's cousin for some reason, Gilman Street, Introspection, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meddling Gilfoyle, Post-Break Up, Punk, Punk!Jared, Reunions, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22224760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallfromgraceonmyface92/pseuds/fallfromgraceonmyface92
Summary: Richard's been dealt a pretty bad hand as of late. After getting his ass kicked, shortly before graduation, his mom ships him to California to spend the summer with his Satanist cousin, who shows him the spectacular world of 924 Gilman Street, where he meets the unexpectedly lovely Jared.
Relationships: Jared Dunn/Richard Hendricks
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Silicon Valley Winter Exchange 2k19





	Hello, or is This Goodbye?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_bit_not_good_yeah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_bit_not_good_yeah/gifts).



It was an unusually cool summer in Berkley that year. 1989 had not been kind to Richard Hendricks and the black eye he’d received the last day of his senior year had only just healed. Richard would have happily spent the summer in his mom’s basement studying Python and playing Super Mario Land on his Gameboy but when he stepped into the kitchen that day, with his eye sickeningly purple and swollen, his mother announced that straight after graduation she was shipping him off to California to spend the next few months with his cousin, Gilfoyle. Richard had protested vehemently but, nonetheless, two weeks and a graduation ceremony later, Richard found himself standing outside Gilfoyle’s dingy studio apartment, awkwardly clutching his luggage.

Richard and Gilfoyle had never been particularly close as kids. The highlight of Richard’s memories of Gilfoyle included various pranks that Richard had been subjected to and once accidentally walking in on Gilfoyle and his longtime girlfriend making out, only to be shot with a pellet gun. Needless to say, Richard was uneasy as Gilfoyle lead him into his guest room with little more than a monosyllabic greeting. Richard had blushed as Tara passed in the hallway wearing nothing but a towel and yelped as Gilfoyle gave him a warning shove. Before Richard had had time to unpack his suitcase, Gilfoyle was back announcing that he was taking Richard out. Richard had figured he’d just meant that they were going out for pizza or something but as they walked, the scenery grew seedier and when he finally mustered up the courage to hesitantly ask Tara where they were going, she announced that they were taking Richard to his first-ever punk show.

A nervous quiver flitted through Richard’s stomach at the idea. He’d never had a good track record with loud, crowded places, which may have been, he pondered, why he’d been so spectacularly unpopular in the hellscape that was public high school. Regardless, Richard preferred the mechanistic and warbling tones of New Wave. His late-night coding marathons were typically done to the soundtrack of near robotic screeching that sometimes Richard felt could pull him from his body and make him into something more. He was… less than excited about the excursion.

Gilfoyle looked cool in a leather jacket, his hair pulled back in a half ponytail and smiling in an uncharacteristically cheerful manner as Tara clung to his bicep. The couple chatted idly while they walked, Richard in tow. Richard lagged a few steps back, his hands tucked in his hoodie pockets and his hood up to block out the unseasonable chill and drizzling rain. As they walked, he stared into the pooled reflections of the streetlamps on the sidewalk, streaking across the oil-slicked pavement like auroras.

Before long, Richard became aware of the thump of a bass drum pounding away into the night and a cacophony of voices growing ever closer. 924 Gilman Street in no way had the look of a traditional punk club. The rectangular, brick building looked more suited to a family-run grocery store than a central hub for disenfranchised youths but, nonetheless, snotty rock music poured from every crack and crevice of the building. It was face piercings, worn leather jackets, and colorful mohawks as far as the eye could see and they hadn’t even made it inside yet.

Gilfoyle turned suddenly as they reached the building.

“I see some people I know,” Gilfoyle started. “Go inside and save us a spot upfront.”

Richard began to protest but before he could, Gilfoyle shoved him in the door and left, lighting a smoke as he went. Tara gave him an apologetic shrug as the writhing throng of young punks pulled Richard deeper inside. Richard tried desperately to get his bearings as he took in the interior of the high-ceilinged club. Nearly every single inch of the walls was covered in all manners of graffiti and stolen street signs. Richard wondered, as he let the current pull him further inside, how so many people had managed to reach the beams in the ceiling to spray paint them. Even the trashcans were graffitied. Richard considered trying to find a quiet place to sit but the only seat in the building was a couch, that looked as though it’d been dragged from the local dump, with two girls kissing, who had more facial piercings apiece than Richard had ever seen on another human being.

Despite being entirely out of his element, Richard could certainly see the appeal. In spite of the persistent smell of body odor, cigarette smoke, and hair spray, Richard couldn’t deny the irresistible air of anarchistic anger that flowed from the amps. It carried him, like a hostage with Stockholm Syndrome, deeper into the venue. The music was unpolished but had a certain charm as the two singers wove together a harmony between a sharp, gruff voice and a nearly slurred, deep mumble. As the song ended, the band launched wordlessly into another, more energetic tune and suddenly the swaying, tightly-packed crowd around Richard became a hurricane of shoulder checks and toes crushed under biker boots. Richard gasped for breath as he was pushed further toward an obviously forming mosh pit, trying desperately to claw his way out.

It was too late. Richard caught an elbow to the cheek and lost his balance. He fell, slipping between the churning waves of people and hit the ground, shielding his face from being stepped on.

‘This is it,’ Richard thought with resignation, ‘I’m going to be trampled to death in a dingy punk club I never wanted to come to.’

But before Richard’s miserable musings could come to fruition, a hand broke through the crowd and gripped Richard by the wrist, dragging him from the depths with a strangled cry. The stranger began dragging him out of the pit, methodically wading between the patrons. Spots danced in front of Richard’s eye as he helplessly allowed the stranger to guide him, blissfully, to a quiet alley, lit only by a dim streetlight. Suddenly the stranger’s massive hand gripped Richard by the chin and turned his head to and fro.

“Are you okay?” the man asked in a polite, clear tenor. “I keep trying to talk to Tim about how people have been acting in the pit. One of these times, someone is going to get really hurt.”

Richard’s senses returned at last as he became aware of large, blue eyes peering into his face.

‘So blue,’ Richard thought dazedly, ‘like the sky, back home, on a summer day.’

“Sir?” the man asked again, frowning in a way that made his full mouth appear impossibly fuller. “Should I call someone for you? I think there’s a payphone on the corner.”

“N-no! I’m- I’m alright. I just got hit in the cheek and fell down.”

“Oh!” the man exclaimed, taking Richard’s flushed face in his hands again.

He tenderly probed his already bruising cheek with long, delicate fingers, earning a hiss from Richard. The man winced empathetically and dropped his hands apologetically to his sides.

“It doesn’t appear as though anything is broken but there will probably be a nasty bruise for a bit,” the man told Richard, nervously scratching at dark brown hair, marked only by a bright blue lock upfront.

“You, uh, really saved my ass back there, man. Thanks-“ Richard held his hand out, leaving the sentence open-ended for an introduction.

“Jared,” the man provided, happily taking Richard’s hand in a firm, eager handshake.

“I’m R- Richard.”

“Lovely to make your acquaintance, Richard,” Jared declared in manner incongruously amiable for a punk boy in eyeliner, a cut off T-shirt and dirty Doc Martins.

“Sounds like Op. Ivy is finishing up now, there are a few minutes until my favorite band goes on. We should get something cold on your cheek, so it doesn’t swell,” Jared remarked. “There’s a corner store down the block. Want to walk with me?”

Richard chewed his lip, considering how smart it really was to walk off into the darkness with a stranger but, as he remembered Jared’s hand granting him reprieve from the crowd stamping on his face, he reluctantly nodded.

“Jared?” Richard asked as they started from the alley. “Do you, um, come here a lot?”

“Gilman?” Jared replied, befuddled. “Only on the weekend, usually. Why do you ask?”

“Well, uh, you don’t really seem like the- the type.”

“What type do I seem like to you, Richard?” Jared quizzed, looking impishly at him from the corner of his eye.

Richard blanched.

“I didn’t m-mean anything by i-it,” Richard stammered apologetically. “It’s j-just that you seem kind of- you know, b-bookish and well-spoken.”

“I see,” Jared answered with an easy laugh. “You’re too quick to judge a book by its cover. Punk isn’t just loud music and nose piercings.”

“It i-isn’t?” Richard asked, staring appreciatively at the tasteful blackbird tattooed on Jared’s thin bicep.

“Punk, my friend, is about rebellion,” Jared proposed. “It’s about taking all the injustice you see and experience and turning it into something bigger than yourself. It’s a home for the lost and misunderstood. Punk is a movement, Richard.” Richard nodded dully and followed Jared inside the store.

The bell over the door chimed as they entered and Jared started toward the fountain machine, grabbing a handful of napkins as he went. He pressed uselessly on the ice dispenser; one napkin covered hand outstretched below it, in waiting, but only a few already melting flakes came.

“Hmm, must be out,” Jared puzzled, looking down at the chintzy watch on his wrist, held together with duct tape. “No problem, though. If we head a couple blocks over, I’ll probably only miss the first couple of songs.”

Richard had only known Jared a few minutes, but he already could tell that he was hiding thinly-veiled disappointment behind those Oklahoma sky eyes.

“Jared, it’s cool,” Richard soothed, heading toward one of the coolers lining the walls. “I’ll just get a Coke or something. I’m pretty thirsty anyway.” He grabbed a frosty, red can from the door and turned toward Jared.

“Want anything, man?” Richard offered softly. Jared blushed and looked down at his filthy shoes.

“I can’t really afford one right now,” Jared explained, nervously scratching the nape of his neck.

“Hey, my treat, dude. It’s, um, the least I can do,” Richard expressed, grabbing a second can. “Coke okay?”

Jared smiled graciously and nodded after a moment. As they started back toward the club, Richard moved to open his Coke before Jared reached out to cover his hand with his own.

“You should really put that against your face,” Jared explained, before taking a sip from his freshly opened soda. “That bruise looks pretty bad. We could… share this one, if you’d like.”

He gingerly held the can out toward Richard. Richard gnawed his lip contemplatively.

“No cooties, I swear,” Jared added with a smirk.

Richard chuckled and took the can from him, pausing briefly before taking a small swig. As he passed the can back, the idea that sharing a soda was something like an indirect kiss popped intrusively into Richard’s head and he blushed as he berated himself for thinking about kissing his strange rescuer. He grimaced as he pressed the sealed can to his sore cheek and followed Jared back down the alley in companionable silence.

From outside, Richard could hear the noise of dozens of conversations and the occasional feedback marking a band on stage readying their equipment for the next set.

“Seems like we have a few minutes before they start,” Jared observed quietly. “Want to stay and talk for a few?”

Richard wondered if Gilfoyle had even bothered to look for him but found that he didn’t much care either way, at the moment. He nodded.

“You’re not from here, are you, Richard?” Jared examined, capturing Richard in his kohl-lined gaze. “Your accent’s pretty subtle but it’s not anything I’ve ever heard around here.”

Richard wondered if his eyes were just as beautiful without the eyeliner. He bet they were even more so.

“Yeah, I’m from Oklahoma, actually,” Richard explained with a sigh. “I got my ass kicked a few weeks back and now my mom’s got me staying with my cousin for the summer, or, uh, at least until I start college, I guess.”

“Oh!” Jared sounded pleased. “Where are you going?”

“I, uh, got into Stanford on a scholarship,” Richard told him, the tips of his ears turning red.

People got weird when Richard explained he was set to attend an Ivy League college; they treated him as though he were bragging, even if they’d asked him first. Jared just smiled pleasantly.

“What about you, man?” Richard inquired, happy to take the attention off of himself.

“I had to defer for a couple of years while I saved up,” Jared related, staring down at his ragged clothes before beaming at Richard with crooked, but charmingly white, teeth. “But I start at Vassar in a couple of months.”

Richard could not begin to explain the disappointed pit that formed in his stomach at the news that Jared, a perfect stranger, would soon be residing on the other side of the country.

“That’s, uh, really great, man,” Richard muttered, taking a sip of their shared soda.

“Thank you very much, Richard,” Jared uttered impatiently. “What’s taking so long? Hopefully, Tré didn’t get his foot stuck in a toilet again.”

“W-what is it that’s so great about this band you’re waiting for, dude?” Richard queried tentatively.

“Oh, goodness,” Jared started, his face lighting up, “almost no one here likes them!”

Richard couldn’t stifle a laugh.

“They’re good because no one likes them?”

“No, no, no,” Jared clarified as though he was giving a lecture rather than describing his favorite band. “They’re widely considered too soft for the punk scene. Whereas most of the bands that play here sing about drunken mischief or _sticking it to the man_ , Green Day does these wonderful songs about longing and unrequited love and- ugh, it’s all just so passionate!”

Jared practically had stars in his eyes as he gestured wildly. Richard was struck with how absolutely lovely he looked, even under the dingy streetlight.

“Have you ever, um, talked to the guy who writes the stuff?”

“Oh, yes!” Jared continued bashfully. “Only a few words in passing but Billie’s very nice. His lover, that he writes most of his songs about, is also from the Midwest, like you.”

Richard couldn’t tell if he’d only imagined the goosebumps that had popped up on Jared’s arms as he looked at Richard from under his lashes. Richard was contemplating whether or not to offer Jared his sweatshirt when a chord rung out from inside.

“It’s time!” Jared cried happily and without a second thought, he grabbed Richard’s hand and pulled him inside, Cokes forgotten on the pavement.

Jared deftly pulled Richard through the sparse crowd, moving as close to the front as he possibly could. Richard stopped beside him as a small man with ratty dreadlocks broke into song about becoming desperately infatuated with someone, wondering if their love could last and then ultimately jumping in headfirst with reckless abandon. As Richard watched Jared sing along to the song with the occasional happy, little head shake, he thought maybe he understood a bit of what Billie was singing about. The crowd wasn’t as packed as it had been during the last act but there was an energy pulsating throughout the room as the band poured themselves into every note. People jumped and danced to the rhythm and, as hesitant as he was, under the dim light, Richard let himself give into the music.

As the set went on, the crowd began to fill with passerby’s drawn in by the melody and Jared and Richard stood face to face in the front of the crowd, dancing wildly, caution thrown the wind. Sweat poured down Richard’s forehead as he swung his head side to side to the beat and smiled as Jared sang the lyrics to him. Jared’s attractively lithe body moved with an ethereal grace that Richard could never forget and never wanted to.

“We’re going to slow it down for a minute, guys,” Billie spoke between songs. “This is ‘Rest.’”

With that, the band launched into a slow, syrupy ballad about the hope of reuniting with a loved one.

After their energetic dance, Richard and Jared looked awkwardly at one another and likely would have parted to face forward again, until someone shoved Richard into Jared’s chest. He hazarded a look over his shoulder and thought he could just see Gilfoyle disappearing into the crowd. He blushed and leaned up from where Jared held him up by the waist. Nearly every fiber of his being told him to step back but instead, in a move outside his nature, he wrapped his arms around Jared’s middle and stared up into those Oklahoma blues, searching for approval. Jared smiled, redoubled his grip on Richard’s waist and began to sway them side to side to the beat, his eyes not leaving Richard’s.

Richard’s chest was filled with hot, glowing longing. His gaze drifted slowly to Jared’s slightly parted lips as he licked his own. He felt he might implode right there in the middle of this club, to the tune of this slow ballad, if he didn’t learn the sensation of those full lips against his own. Right as the drums began rolling in earnest, Jared gently reached to cup Richard’s stubbled cheek and tipped his chin up. Jared agonizingly stroked his thumb over Richard’s bottom lip. At last, he slowly leaned forward, eyes hooded but not closed, as though he wanted to memorize everything that was unfolding.

Richard was helpless to the fluttering shut of his eyelids as Jared captured his lips in just the softest, quickest, most chaste kiss. Richard melted against him, revolting at the loss of contact so soon. He found his fingers twining into Jared’s dark hair and pulled him back in, breathless and yearning. With each needful, deep kiss, with each smoldering swipe of sugar-sweet tongue, Richard was sure that he could contentedly live in this moment forever and even as the next song began with renewed energy, the two couldn’t bring themselves to pull apart. Until that moment, Richard had never known loneliness so deep and persistent lived inside him. Jared’s kiss was a healing salve on the ragged edges of a wound he never knew he’d had.

-

That summer was one Richard looked back on for years as one of the best of his life. He and Jared were nearly inseparable from that night forth. They spent a lot of time at Gilman or the arcade, but on nights when the stars aligned in their favor, they found themselves in Richard’s room, entangled under the sheets, stifling elated soft sighs and wishing to be impossibly closer and knowing only that they never wanted the white, hot heat between them to end. Richard grew used to falling asleep with Jared’s slender arms around him while he traced his lover’s blackbird tattoo with his pointer finger. Jared would spend hours showing Richard his favorite places in the city and on rainy days, Richard would curl up with his head in Jared’s lap while he read aloud from his favorite novels and stroked his fingers through Richard’s curls.

It wasn’t all sunshine that summer, of course. On one occasion, the pair were hit with a chocolate milkshake from a passing car when they made the mistake of kissing on the corner of a busy intersection while waiting to cross. Jared was often embarrassed by his lack of funds; he could rarely afford to take Richard out and most of his clothes were shabby and he was embarrassed at everything Richard insisted to pay for, no matter how small. Exchanging childhood stories became a minefield; Richard never knew whether Jared would be handing him the rare, precious gem of a genuinely happy memory or one that was horrifying and somehow painted in a positive light in Jared’s mind. Jared’s homelife was disastrous and on far too many occasions, he turned up on Gilfoyle’s doorstep with bruises and scrapes before even the Satanist insisted that Jared should stay, and for those last two weeks, Richard woke to Jared’s sleep-warm skin against him every morning and held him through nightmares of his past every night.

Too soon, Gilfoyle drove the pair to the airport, where both were due to catch flights. Gilfoyle insisted that Jared could stay the extra week before his classes started but Jared had simply explained that he didn’t want to be there without Richard. And after a tearful embrace, in which Richard told Jared that he loved him for the first time without bothering to mention it was the first time he'd ever said it to someone who wasn't his mother, they exchanged a lingering kiss and parted ways to meet their destinies, hoping fate might deign to bring them back together again. Once away at college, they exchanged a few letters and one long-distance call that Richard worked the majority of that fall to just pay off, but inevitably they drifted apart. The last letter Richard received from Jared was stained with teardrops and filled with heartfelt apologies but explained that sometimes things just didn’t work out and that this was one of those times. He wished Richard well and said that maybe someday they’d meet again, and it would all be right. Richard’s eyes had blurred with tears as he tore the letter in half, regretting it instantly. He cried in the dark of his dorm room, clinging to the remaining pieces of that final letter. He guessed he’d known it was coming but never thought that it would come so soon or hurt so, so very much.

-

Eight years had gone by since that fateful summer and at 26, Richard had had a few boyfriends and girlfriends but nothing that ever compared with Jared. So, after dropping out of Stanford, a few credits short of graduation, Richard had buckled down and continued to learn to code and began working on his own program while living a hostel in Silicon Valley with his cousin, Gilfoyle, and their mutual friend, Dinesh. He got a lowly quality assurance job at a soulless tech company and kept his nose to the grindstone.

He went months and months at a time without thinking about Jared but sometimes he’d hear a song on the radio, and he’d spiral. In his room, he’d dust off the Green Day tape Jared had given him, all those years ago, and lay in bed, alternating between smiling, crying hideously, and chastising himself for crying over a eloquent punk boy he hadn’t seen in almost a decade, while Billie sang, lovesick, in the background. Then the next day, he’d box the tape back up until it happened again.

“Hey, Dick,” Gilfoyle called into his room. “Some guy from Hooli called and said Gavin Belson wants to meet and talk to you about buying your program for a million dollars.”

“H-he what? A m-million?!” Richard cried, ripping his headphones from his ears as he entered the living room. “When?”

“Uh, now?” Gilfoyle told him, not looking at him. “I told him you were on your way.”

“Why would you-“ Richard just shook his head. “Where’s Erlich?”

“He went to go meet the weed guy,” Gilfoyle explained matter-of-factly. “Better run.”

“You dick,” Richard squealed, zipping his hoodie and taking off jogging out the door, clunky laptop under his arm.

By the time Richard reached the Hooli offices, he was sweating through his shirt and utterly out of breath. He panted as he informed the receptionist that he had a meeting with Gavin Belson. In the elevator, he tried desperately, and in vain, to straighten his appearance. In the lobby, he found another receptionist staring expectantly at him.

“Richard Hendricks, here for Gavin Belson,” Richard repeated to her.

“Mister Hendricks,” a familiar voice intoned behind him. “We’ve been waiting for you. We didn’t think-“

Richard spun on his heel and dropped his laptop in surprise.

A lot had changed. His hair was perfectly parted and pressed down. His tattered T-shirts and holey jeans had been replaced by expensive khakis and a Brooks Brothers button-up. His crooked smile had been altered and straightened with braces but there was no denying, it was Jared. _His Jared._

“R-Richard,” Jared stumbled taking a step forward, hands outstretched longingly.

“Jared,” Richard cried, staring into those Oklahoma blues that he never thought he’d see again.

“I saw your name but I never dared to hope that it was really-“

“I thought you were in New York,” Richard interrupted. “I looked for you. I-I couldn’t find you, Jared.”

“My name- Um, it’s actually Donald. Jared has always been, erm, a nickname.”

Richard shook his head disbelievingly and started toward him. Jared stopped him at arm’s length, gripping him by the shoulders. Richard both reveled in Jared’s touch and revolted against the fact that Jared wasn’t already in his arms.

“Richard, wait,” Jared pled. “Don’t take this deal. What you’ve created is genius! Gavin just wants-“

Richard snorted indignantly.

“Jared, I don’t care,” Richard replied staring up into Jared’s wide eyes. “Fuck the deal. Fuck Gavin. Fuck the money.”

And he surged forward, taking Jared’s face in his hands and kissed him with eight years’ worth of unspoken words bursting from him, without a sound. Jared froze for a moment. But only for a moment. Then he was pulling Richard flush against him, kissing him back with every bit as much passion. The lonely wound inside them both finally abated, cured after all those years apart. And as the people in the lobby burst into applause, it was as though they were back at Gilman; under the lights, surrounded by the roar of the crowd, the bass thumping all around them but incomparable to the combined beating of their hearts. They were never letting go again. Fate had dealt them a bad hand. It had dragged them thousands of miles apart and kept them seperate for eight years, yet here they were, spitting in the face of the universe. As Jared tangled long fingers into his curls, Richard thought that might just be the most punk rock thing either of them could have ever done.

**Author's Note:**

> So, um, thanks for reading! I swear I intended this to have some smut but it just came out as this superrr cheesy, syrupy cotton candy fluff. I watched the doc Turn It Around about Gilman street and this idea has been festering ever since. Sorry for making Richard and Gilfoyle cousins.
> 
> The song Richard gets elbowed in the face to [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HtUnubXAO4)  
> The song playing when Richard and Jared run back inside [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8V1_u6eC5o)  
> The song they kiss during [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z0COxsHMOlU)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please throw me a comment letting me know. Happy exchange!


End file.
